Save Me From Myself
by Taelr
Summary: Will Graham is haunted by memories of torture and murders; memories and murders that aren't his own. He's getting slowly worse and worse between the nightmares, hallucinations, and constant fear that he's forced to live with. He's considering checking himself into a mental hospital when someone new shows up in his life. Someone who could change it all. But will he let her save him?
1. Doubt

Will closed his eyes and focused. He allowed his mind to turn time back, let himself step into the shoes of a killer. Strange, how some people were so confused and curious about his gift, when he'd had it all his life. A gift, that's what Jack Crawford had called it when he first found out about the way Will could empathize with anyone. But to Will, what he could do wasn't a gift. It was a curse, and one that would probably drive him mad or cost him his life in the end.

He would have given up and left long ago, and with good reason, if it wasn't for that guilty feeling that clawed its way out of the deepest, darkest parts of him and surfaced whenever he thought of quitting. He couldn't leave because with every case that Jack set him on, with every crime scene they visited and every psychopath's shoes that he stepped into, he was solving things and answering questions and _saving people_. He was also tearing himself apart bit by bit, a little more with every murder he had to examine and mentally commit, but that part didn't matter, not when innocent lives were being saved.

There was no one else like him, no one else who could think the way he did. And if he left his job as a "special agent" with the FBI, he would also be forfeiting his ability to save people and make a difference in just a few lives. Without him, people would _die_. And he just couldn't have that on his conscience. Not when he could have stayed and continued working.

But he was slowly getting worse and worse. He'd gotten CAT scans, MRI's and just about every test and examination there was to see if he had a brain tumor or something in his head that was getting to him. His hallucinations were getting more vivid with each passing day, and he got very little sleep at night. He looked like hell, and Jack often told him so. But he could care less about his appearance; he was getting worried that there was something wrong with him beyond the physical. As if he didn't have enough to worry about already, his nightmares, visions, and failing health aside.

Opening his eyes, he looked around the room with fresh eyes. He wondered if it would be disorienting or frightening for anyone else to step out of their perspective and fully accept the thoughts and perspective of someone else. Funny, how he'd been doing it for so long now that it wasn't strange or disorienting as much as uncomfortable, and he knew it would haunt him later. But now, now he needed to focus. And now he _would_ focus. He blinked once, pushing his troubled thoughts away and resuming his new role as their mystery man or woman, the killer of the three people who were lying face down on the carpet in front of him.

He went through the motions and knew exactly what had led up to the three bodies lying on the floor, now nothing but cold corpses. But just as he was about to snap out of it and step back into being himself, he heard it.

The soft but steady sound of heavy hoof beats. They seemed to be coming from the kitchen, which opened up into the living room, where he was now standing. He looked up just as the massive creature stepped into the room, lowering its head so that its antlers wouldn't scrape the ceiling. It inhaled deeply, breath coming out in a puff that somehow managed to sound something like his name. Again, the elk breathed in deeply, and seemed to be saying his name. But this time was different, and he realized that it wasn't the elk who was talking to him; the voice calling his name was that of Jack Crawford.

"Will, What can you tell me about our mystery man? Will?"

With a jolt, Will came back to reality. He glanced at the clock on the wall and blinked once. _It's 5:30 pm. I am in Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Will Graham._

He was torn from his thoughts when Jack leaned closer to him and asked loudly, "Will? Our mystery man?"

"Or woman," Will said quietly. He glanced around the room and then back down at the three bodies before him. The three people he'd just felt himself kill. He took a deep breath and lifted a hand to rub his face before putting his glasses back on. He always took them off and put them safely in his pocket before stepping into someone else's shoes.

He wanted to sink down to the floor and fall asleep right there where he was standing, but he was also afraid of sleeping. The nightmares were getting to be too much. Besides, he couldn't sleep now; Jack was still waiting for him to elaborate on what he'd seen. Taking a deep breath, Will turned back to face him.

"A woman?" Jack asked.

Will nodded, glancing at the bodies and the blood-stained carpet for a moment before looking up again. "I'm not entirely sure. But it's very likely."

"Why do you say that?"

Will took another moment to study the dead people. "It's the way they died. There was mercy and . . . something else."

"Something else?" Jack raised his eyebrows.

Will shook his head, trying to grasp again at the idea he'd stumbled upon moments before. "There was a kind of love shown in their deaths. They died quickly; the mercy. But the something else; something maternal and motherly, maybe sisterly?"

The crease between Jack's brows—which was ever-present these days—deepened. "A mother or a sister."

But Will shook his head. "A mother or sister-_figure_. There isn't necessarily any blood relation."

Jack rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone. "We'll still need to find and interview all female relatives of the victims'."

He dialed a number, held the phone to his ear, and muttered a few words to the person at the other end of the line when they answered. But Will didn't bother to listen to what he was saying. He felt a drop of liquid fall onto his cheek from above him and looked up. Water seemed to be coming out of a place in the ceiling, spreading and moving across the space above him and dripping down on him and the people around him. He glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice that it was raining inside. So he returned his attention to the ceiling, watching the place where the water was flowing out from somewhere above.

Just as he decided that he should find his way into the attic and check for a water leak, Jack interrupted his thoughts. "Will," he said, and Will stopped looking at the ceiling. He saw Jack look up at the very place where all the water was coming from, but he didn't seem to be able to see it. He glanced at Will questioningly as Will stared at a drop of water that had left the ceiling and landed right on Jack's cheek. It slid slowly downward even as Will watched. He blinked once and the drop of liquid was gone. Glancing up at the ceiling as Jack hurried him out the door, he saw that the water on the ceiling was gone too, and there was no sign that it had ever even existed. Sighing, he let Jack herd him to the car and push him into his seat. As he fumbled with the seatbelt he asked, "Where are we going now?"

Jack turned and looked at him, muttered, "You look like hell, Will," and said, this time in his normal, authoritive voice, "We're going to meet someone."

"Who?" Will asked, turning to look out the window as they pulled out of the driveway of the unfamiliar house where three people had died the night before.

"Someone a lot like you. Been doing the same kinds of things for just as long as you have. The only difference is that this person isn't half as affected by working as you are. An old friend of mine, actually."

"You're hoping I can learn something from him about not letting it get to my head," Will said, an exhausted, amused half-smile curving his lips.

Jack said nothing and the rest of the drive was spent in silence.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at Jack in surprise when they pulled into the parking lot of a Starbucks. "What kind of agent wants to meet at a coffee place?" he asked.

The smallest of smiles turned up the corners of Jack's lips. "This isn't an agent or your psychiatrist, Will. I told you; just like you, they've been in the job for a while. But, uh, this person has some different tastes than you do."

"Right," Will muttered as they walked towards the door, "like meeting FBI agents at _Starbucks_. That's completely normal."

He kept his voice low, but Jack turned and looked at him. "I'm not meeting anyone here today," he said. "I'm just introducing the two of you and leaving you to have a chat over hot coffee." He paused a minute, looking Will over and adding, "And maybe a cookie or two; you look pale. A little sugar in your blood might help you out."

They had been walking as they talked, and Jack pushed open the door and Will followed him in. They both looked around, and Will thought that whoever he was meeting must be late because there was only one person in the place beside them, seated at a corner table with a laptop and hastily scribbling something down in a notebook. He glanced at Jack, expecting them to find a table to sit at until the mystery man Will had to meet arrived. But Jack glanced at the one table in the corner of the place and said, "Ah, early, as always," and started to walk towards the table.

Will followed along behind, hissing things at Jack, who seemed to be ignoring his complaints. "Why did we have to meet here? This isn't what I expected at all! This is completely unproffessiona-"

Jack turned on him suddenly and hissed back, "Just . . . give it a chance. When's the last time you sat down to have a friendly conversation with someone?" He paused for a moment, waiting for the reply both of them knew Will wouldn't give, and then said, "That's what I thought. You might actually enjoy it, you know. You _are_ allowed to do that. Be nice; this is a new colleague of yours."

But Will wasn't sold. This was the last place he'd expected to be meeting anyone, let alone a new colleague. And as far as he could tell, this "new colleague" was nothing like him and the two of them wouldn't get along very well. Sighing, he didn't even force a smile when he and Jack reached the table.

**Hello there! This is my first Hannibal story, so please be kind. But I'd love to hear what you thought of it. I know this was short, but it's just the beginning. I promise there will be longer chapters in the near future! If you have any corrections/suggestions/critiques then please let me know. Thank you for reading! ~Taelr**


	2. Interest

Will was silent as they were introduced.

"Will Graham," Jack said, nodding in Will's direction.

Then he turned to nod at Will's new colleague and said, "Will, this is Veronica Franklin."

Will nodded halfheartedly in the direction of Jack's 'old friend.'

"Well," Jack said, "I suppose I could do with a coffee before I leave you two." He looked to Will. "You want anything?"

Will brightened, putting on a rather large, fake smile. "Sure," he said. "Actually, I know what I like, and it's too complicated for you to remember. I'll just come with you and order for myself."

He didn't even look at Veronica, but his rudeness seemed to go unnoticed.

He and Jack walked up to the counter and Jack ordered his drink and two cookies before turning to glare at Will. "You're not even trying," he growled.

But Will had his own complaints. "She's a woman!" he hissed.

Jack looked annoyed. "I had no idea you were so against the female gender."

"It's not that," Will said. "It's just . . . You want there to be a friendship, a connection? I _connect_ better with men. Women are too complicated. And you know how bad my skills are when it comes to perceiving what people are thinking and feeling based on their expressions and the things they _don't_ say."

Jack let Will order before he said, keeping his voice low for the sake of the young woman sitting at the corner table, not far away, "You connected with Alana Bloom."

Will exhaled loudly through his nose, his jaw muscles tightening visibly. "And look at how that turned out," he said under his breath.

"Will," Jack said, annoyed, "I don't know _how_ it turned out because the two of you rarely talk anymore, never unless it is absolutely necessary. And you refuse to tell me what on earth happened that caused this distance between you."

Their coffees were ready at almost the same time, and as they walked back towards the table Will growled, "I don't connect well with women."

"Well," said Jack, "I told you to give it a chance. Maybe this time will be different."

"Right," Will said sarcastically.

They had been muttering to each other because they were getting closer to the table, and quite suddenly they were standing right next to it. "Well," Jack said, his voice loud and booming as it usually was, "I should be going." He set the two cookies on a napkin at the place opposite Veronica and turned to look at her. He motioned to the cookies and said, "Will needs more sugar in his blood. Make sure he eats at least one of those. Goodbye, Veronica."

Will watched her smile and look up to say, "Bye, Jack."

Jack turned and left the place, and Will watched him go. When Jack had driven away he was forced to look back to the table. He hadn't taken his seat across from Veronica yet, and continued to stand there beside the table for quite a while. It was the first time in a long time that he'd felt truly awkward, the first time in a month or so that he'd let himself be alone in a room with any woman. Well, he'd been alone with Beverly Katz. But he and Beverly had a purely professional relationship that only sometimes bordered on friendship and he didn't count his time with her as being alone with a woman because there was usually at least one dead person in the room with them. And if you counted the woman moving around behind the counter and going in and out of a back room, then he wasn't alone with Veronica at all.

He was lost in thought and jumped just a little when Veronica said, "You know, you can sit if you like," without looking up from her laptop, where she was typing rather quickly.

So he slid into the seat across from her and stared at the back of the cover of her laptop. It was a Lenovo. He knew that Dell and Apple were more well-known names and wondered why she hadn't chosen to own one of those instead. But his thoughts were cut off a moment later when she reached up and closed her laptop, moving it aside and pulling her coffee in front of her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was just looking at what Jack thought about that murder from last night."

Will was surprised. "Almost no one's been at the crime scene," he said. "There's no way there's already a story up on _TattleCrime_."

"You're right," she said, taking a sip of coffee before looking up at him. "And Freddie Lounds is a liar with no respect for the people and murders she writes about. I wouldn't believe a word of her writing even if there _was_ an article on that website."

Then it occurred to Will; she'd said that she was looking 'at what Jack thought.'

"He told you about the murders." It wasn't a question.

Veronica nodded. "He always does."

Will nodded once. "He said you were an old friend?"

She inclined her head. "We met not long before he and Phyllis became engaged. My older sister and Phyllis were best friends through high school and college."

Will raised an eyebrow. "So the younger sister of Jack's wife's best friend became his best friend?"

She laughed. "Hardly. The only interest Jack had in me was brought on by my interest in law enforcement and my desire to one day become an FBI agent for myself. But as soon as he discovered my 'gift,' as he called it, he suggested becoming a profiler. And I followed his advice. Nowadays I'm more of a therapist than a friend. He tells me about his cases, I tell him what I think of them. He tells me about how well Phyllis is doing and how he's coping, and I give him advice. He thinks I'm a good listener, and if listening is helping him then I'll keep doing it as long as he needs me to."

Will found this interesting and informative, but he had other things on his mind. "What did you think of it?" he asked.

He hadn't explicitly said it, but she knew he was asking about the information Jack had given her on the latest murder. "It was interesting," was all she said at first.

Will waited for her to elaborate, and he didn't have to wait long.

"I feel like this one is very unique, very new. I mean, obviously there have been killers who leave three victims lying on the living room floor in pools of their own blood before. But the intent behind their deaths, that's what's new."

"Did Jack tell you what I thought about it?" Will asked.

She nodded. "Yes. And I think you're right. There was something almost loving about the way they were killed. Of course, men can be loving, but I think mothers and sisters have a more obvious way of displaying affection. And I don't think it was necessarily a blood-relative, either."

Will nodded and they fell silent.

Several minutes passed without a word spoken between them, and Will had been staring between his coffee cup and the cookies in front of him. When he looked up, Veronica was watching him. He searched her face and prepared himself for the words that were sure to come; she was going to tell him exactly what she saw in him.

But she saw the look on his face and said, "I'm not psychoanalyzing you, Mr. Graham. I'm not a psychiatrist. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

He stared at her in surprise. He had been so prepared, so expectant, and here she was apologizing for a crime she hadn't even committed. "Oh, no, you didn't make me . . ." he trailed off, not really sure how to respond to the sincerity in her eyes. She was friendly, but not overly so, managing to appear willing to have a friendship with him and simultaneously cautious and withdrawn enough that he wouldn't have been uncomfortable even if he didn't want to be personal with her at all. He realized that he'd been staring into her eyes for quite some time and he blinked several times before saying, "Uh, please, call me Will."

It was the first time in nearly forever since he'd been the first one in a relationship to request that he be called by his first name.

She smiled and said, "You know, I feel like Jack's introduction was a little stilted." And she slid out of her seat and stood up beside the table.

He wasn't sure what she was doing, but he followed her lead, sliding out of his own seat to stand in front of her. She extended her hand and he realized that she wanted to redo their introduction, this time without Jack around. "I'm Veronica," she said as she held out her hand.

"Will," he said as he took her hand and shook it.

She smiled at him, and it was genuine and friendly and . . . beautiful.

They sat down again, but this time Will was completely willing and while part of him denied it, a larger part of him wanted to get to know Veronica Franklin better. For the first time, he found himself observing her, taking in every piece of her appearance in only a matter of seconds. She was looking down at her coffee, so he took an extra moment to stare.

She had long, straight, dirty-blonde hair with natural highlights that fell down her back and over her shoulders. Her eyebrows were very dark, and her eyelashes were the same color. They framed her large, chocolate brown eyes, which were set just the right distance apart above a straight edge nose. He was tempted to count the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, but refrained in favor of allowing his gaze to move to her lips. They were curved in the slightest of smiles at the moment and appeared to naturally be a soft rose-color. And if he was honest with himself, he thought that they looked very kissable, maybe even more kissable than Alana's lips had been the first day he met her. She had a plain, nondescript chin that only added to her natural beauty. She had a thin, pale neck that was half-hidden behind a crimson scarf. Her clothes were probably in style, though he wouldn't know because he never paid attention to what women were wearing these days. She was thin, but not incredibly so, obviously healthy and strong, and by the way she'd risen from her seat earlier, he was sure that she was very athletic. She was naturally very pretty and didn't wear much makeup.

Lowering his gaze to his coffee, he took a sip before looking back up at Veronica and wondering where the conversation would go once it began again. He wasn't sure if he should be the one to start talking, but he didn't know what he would say or ask to get things going, so he stayed quiet.

She looked up at him after a moment and said, "I've heard you're a workaholic. Do you have any hobbies besides reenacting murders in your head and looking at dead people?"

Will felt a smile creeping to his lips and realized that he couldn't remember the last time he had smiled and it hadn't been sarcastic. Then he realized that he hadn't yet answered Veronica's question and he said, "I like to fish. I enjoy making my own lures."

She nodded, waited a few seconds and then said, "Anything else?"

He shrugged. "Uh . . . I'm not the only one who lives at my house; I find strays and give them a home."

"Stray dogs? Or just stray . . . things . . . in general?" she asked.

He laughed, and it was genuine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so freely and smile had so effortlessly formed itself on his lips. "Dogs," he said. "Cats really just aren't my thing."

She smiled. "I'm not much of a cat person myself. How many strays are part of your family now?"

"As of the moment, seven," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Do you take them all on walks at the same time with seven different leashes to hold?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No. I live just outside of Quantico. There are a lot of neighboring farms and I own a few acres that the dogs can run on. It's very open."

It was then that it occurred to Will that while he never looked into anyone's eyes while speaking to them, he'd been looking right into Veronica's without even realizing the change. He usually avoided eye-contact because everyone had something to hide and the things he saw in their eyes were strange and sometimes very dark and disturbing. But in Veronica's dark brown eyes there was everything bright and good, and while he could clearly see the bit of darkness that was there because of her work, he could tell that she had nothing to hide. Maybe that was why he dared to look right at her when they spoke.

Just then a song he didn't recognize burst from the place on the seat next to Veronica, and she took her phone out and answered it.

Will waited patiently while she talked to whoever was on the other line. When she hung up, there was a strange expression on her face. "I'm sorry," she said as she put her phone back in her purse and slid her laptop in front of her. "I need to look something up really quick."

Will shook his head. "It's fine," he said. He wondered what could be so pressing that she was this hastily pulling out her laptop and typing on it at speeds he'd previously thought weren't humanly possible. "I was just going to get a refill."

He stood up and paused, turning back to ask, "Would you like me to get you one, too?"

She had been completely enthralled with whatever she was looking at, but she turned to look at him. "Sure, thanks." She told him what she had and he left the table to get their refills.

Just after he'd ordered and while he was waiting for the coffees to be ready, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Will, I need you here. It's happened again." It was Jack.

Will knew better than to ask too many questions; that would only waste time. "Where?" he asked.

"Quantico."

He felt his stomach tighten at the thought of another murder, and this one so close to his home.

Then it occurred to him that he'd come here with Jack. "I don't have a car," he said.

"This is big, Will. I want both you and Veronica here. You can stand being in a car with her for a few minutes, can't you?"

Will wanted to laugh and tell Jack that he was sorry for being so pessimistic that morning because things had worked out and he and Veronica actually got along well, but all he could think about was having to look at more dead people. "We'll be there as soon as we can," was all he said.

"Good." And Jack hung up.

He was putting his phone in his pocket when the coffees were handed to him and he took them numbly back to the table. He'd already had to step into the shoes of this killer once today. And now he had to do it again?

He set Veronica's coffee in front of her, but didn't sit back down. He started to explain, "Jack called . . ."

But she nodded. "I was checking my inbox and he sent me an email just after you hung up with him. Here," and she turned the laptop so Will could see the screen, too.

There were several snapshots, no doubt taken moments before on Jack's phone. The email contained nothing besides the bloody-looking pictures, so Will said, "He wants us both there."

She closed her laptop and looked up at him, seeming rather surprised.

Will shrugged. "He says it's something big."

She put the laptop in her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. "Well then," she said, "shall we?" and she stood up.

He started to say, "I don't have a c-"

But she smiled and said, "I know," before he could finish.

Before they left the table Veronica snatched the two cookies from it and Will looked at her questioningly. She saw the expression on his face and laughed. "I'm not going to make you eat anything you don't want to," she said, smiling as they started to walk towards the door. "But I can't let good chocolate chip cookies go to waste, either. Do you mind if I eat them and tell Jack that you did?"

Will felt a smile tugging at his lips. "Be my guest," he said.

They left the building and Will followed her to a new-looking, glossy black Toyota highlander. He got in the passenger seat and put his seatbelt on as she put her bag in the back seat, and they pulled out of the parking lot. The Starbucks where they'd met was just the next town over from Quantico and Will knew that the drive wouldn't take long.

And it didn't. But it seemed even shorter because he enjoyed it so much. Veronica asked him if he would mind if she turned on the radio, and when he said that it wouldn't bother him at all, she flipped stations until she found her favorite one. Will never listened to the radio anymore, so he was surprised when he recognized the song that started to play. Veronica turned the volume up and even though they both sat in silence and listened, they were as comfortable and happy as if the volume had been all of the way up and they'd been two old friends singing their way through the song. It was a happy song about appreciating the little things in life and for the few minutes that it played, Will was able to forget that he was about to do what he hated doing. Even after the song ended, another upbeat one came on and even though Veronica turned the volume back down to normal, they didn't talk. But even though they were both quiet the rest of the drive, it was the opposite of an awkward silence.

But that comfortable, happy feeling that had settle inside of Will deserted him as soon as Veronica parked beside Jack's truck and they stepped out in front of the unfamiliar house where he knew the bodies of multiple dead people were waiting for him. Jack had texted him the address while they were driving, and even that hadn't taken away his enjoyment. But that was while they were still safely in Veronica's car and his mind was on anything but death and murder and psychopathic serial killers.

Will looked up at the house and flinched when his stomach started churning. He took a deep breath to clear his mind, but just as he thought he was prepared to go inside he heard the all-too-familiar sound of trickling water. Looking up, he saw that there was quite a bit of water seeping out from under the garage door, in front of which Veronica had parked. He stared at it dumbly for a few seconds, watching as it continued to come from under the door and made its way towards him. He watched the edge of the water as it approached him, and he simply stared when the water hit the toes of his shoes. He frowned when he felt the cold liquid on his feet, then his ankles, and then his legs. It was as if the water was climbing up him. He started to tremble, unsure of whether he should run or stand perfectly still. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before, and he was pretty sure it had never happened to anyone else, either.

He started to feel lightheaded just as the water reached above his knee, and a moment later his sight was bursting with pulsing red lights. He wondered if he was about to lose time and wake up in the middle of God-knows-where.

But just as he thought he was sure to either pass out or have a stroke he heard her voice. "Will?" she asked. He realized that he was leaning rather dangerously to the side, about to come crashing to the ground. But before the concrete driveway below could come rushing up to meet him, he felt someone's hand on his arm. And the instant she touched him, the dizziness and the lights and the water vanished. She pulled him towards her until he was standing straight again and leaned close. "Are you okay?"

He blinked twice, but there was no sign that water had been on the driveway recently. He frowned at the ground, muttered, _damn hallucinations_, and looked up into Veronica's concerned face, which he realized was very close to his own. "Now I am, thanks," he said.

She let go of his arm, but not after leading him over to the garage door and forcing him to lean against the wall for a moment. He pulled a container of Advil out of his pocket and swallowed two of them, blinking several times before he pushed off of the wall and stood next to Veronica, who was standing beside him looking worried.

"I'm fine," he assured her. And he really did feel perfectly fine. There was that familiar, not-so-pleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach that always came just before he viewed a crime scene, but he ignored it. He was fine.

"Alright," she said, eyeing him carefully. "Well if you start to feel weak or faint, just tell me and I'll be right there to catch you."

Normally Will would have felt a little foolish being told by someone so much smaller and more petite than him that he was under their care, but he felt oddly comfortable and relieved knowing that Veronica would be there to catch him if he fell. He knew he was in good hands.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about Veronica and being under her supervision that he nearly tripped over the steps leading up to the front door. But every time he stumbled even the slightest, her hand would be on his arm in an instant, steadying him with the gentlest, tender strength he'd ever witnessed. Maybe his mind was doing strange things again, because he felt unbelievably safe with her there beside him.

But nothing could have prepared him for what was waiting for them when they opened the front door. Will's mind started to reel and he felt Veronica's hand on his arm as soon as they stepped inside even though he hadn't started to stumble. He got the feeling she was holding on to him because she was just as shocked and stunned as he was.

But what Will didn't know was that now the situation was reversed. Veronica wasn't quite surprised enough to faint or topple over, but she reached out to Will without thinking and as long as she was gripping his arm, she felt protected. Now _she_ felt safe with _him_ beside her.

**Okay, I have gotten a few reviews since I posted the first chapter, and I want to say thank you to all my wonderful readers for both reading and reviewing. If you only read, thank you just as much. I hope you'll tell me what you thought of this chapter as well! Thanks again (so much!) for reading; it really means so much to me! ~Taelr**


	3. Acceptance

There was blood everywhere. Painted on the walls. Soaked into the carpet in the middle of the room and the few squares of tile by the front door. Wiped across the plush white couches and their cushions. Splattered on the ceiling.

And there were bodies. Eight of them. All laid out beside each other in order from tallest to smallest and looking pale and bloody and gruesome.

Will had been expecting blood on the walls; one of Jack's pictures in his email had been a shot of a few words painted it blood: "_It's okay. I'm here now_."

But walking in through the door it seemed like they'd walked in just in time to see the aftermath of a blood-bomb going off. Everything was stained in red. The floor, the furniture, the ceiling, the walls, the inside of the front door, the door to a hall closet, the pictures and their frames on the walls.

When the initial shock had passed, he took a deep breath and turned to look at Veronica, who was still gripping his arm firmly. She stood perfectly still and her eyes were closed. He waited a few seconds for her to come back on her own, but she didn't. He wasn't sure why—he'd never been very good at comforting people or knowing what to do when they seemed distressed—but he found himself reaching up and letting his hand rest over hers on his arm. His touch seemed to bring her to life and she let out a long, quiet breath. Then she opened her eyes.

Will didn't think it was good for her to be in such a bloody environment and suggested quietly, "Maybe you should step outside. Once you've gotten some air and if you feel well enough, you can drive home. Or someone can drive you home."

He realized as he spoke that he didn't know where home was for Veronica. But she interrupted his thoughts when she spoke for the first time since they'd stepped inside.

"No. I'm fine, really. It's just . . . seeing pictures is one thing and being here is another. Jack hasn't had me out in the field in a long time. I was prepared to come back, just not quite prepared for something like this. This . . ." she paused as if trying to find the right words, "this is quite the 'welcome back to the field' surprise."

Will raised his eyebrows and inclined his head and said dryly, "No kidding. I'm sorry; I wasn't in on the planning for this _surprise_, so I wasn't able to warn you beforehand."

She had turned to look at him, and he wondered if it was because they were talking or because she wanted to look at something that wasn't covered in blood. A fleeting smile passed over her lips, but then she became somber once more. She glanced around the room as he watched her and looked back at him to ask, "Well, shall we?"

He nodded, removing his hand from hers and watching as she released his arm and stuck her hands in her pockets. They had been alone up until that moment, but just then Jacked entered the room from the hallway to their left.

"Will. Veronica." He nodded to them once. "Glad you made it so quickly." He paused to look around the room and asked, "Thoughts?"

Will shrugged. "We just walked in. Neither of us has looked closely at anything yet."

Jack nodded. "Alright." He started to turn to leave, and then looked back to them, particularly at Will. He looked into Will's eyes questioningly as he said, "Veronica, if you'd come with me? Will likes to be left alone when he does his-"

But Will cut him off. "No," the word was out of his mouth before he could even think to say it.

Jack raised his eyebrows and Veronica, who had taken a step in the direction of the hallway, turned back to look at him.

Will refused to look at Veronica, knowing that her eyes and expression would be full of questions. He scrambled for an excuse for a split second and then avoided looking at her when he said, "You said she was in the same kind of work as me. The same kind of 'gift.' Maybe she won't interfere with my thoughts like anyone else would. I'm not saying she won't, but it's something we can try."

Jack's brows knitted together, but he said nothing. Will knew he would be asked questions later. Questions he wasn't looking forward to but would inevitably have to face. He watched Jack turn and walk back down the hallway and, still unsure of what would meet him if he looked at Veronica, he turned his attention to the wall.

She watched him turn to face the wall with his back to her. But why had become simultaneously so warm and cold at the same time? The warmth had come when he wanted her to stay with him instead of going with Jack. But now he was cold, back turned, focusing on anything but her. Was he afraid that she'd demand to know why he wanted her to stay?

Veronica shook her head behind his back. He didn't know how to trust her. And she couldn't blame him; with everything he'd been through she could only imagine what went on in that head of his. But it was more than just that; Will thought he needed to have an explanation for everything he did. She frowned at his back, wondering when the last time was that he'd made a decision and not felt the need to explain himself to anyone else. She wasn't sure where it came from exactly, but she suddenly knew that all she wanted was to be there for Will. She hardly knew him, and that couldn't be forgotten. But no matter if she'd met him that day or known him for years; she had a feeling in her gut that he needed her more than even he knew, and maybe she needed him just as much.

Sighing, she turned her back on him and looked at the back of the door they'd walked through moments before. Will had pulled the sleeves of his jacket down over his hand to open the door so he wouldn't put any prints on it.

Now she found herself spinning around in a slow circle, reading everything that was written on the wall.

"_I'm so sorry."_

"_It'll be okay."_

"_I'm here now."_

"_Don't worry."_

"_I'm home."_

And there were more.

God, she found herself thinking, what kind of psychopath kills their close friends or family and then writes about it on the wall in their blood? She leaned closer to get a better look at the words written closest to where she was standing and she grimaced. She turned around to make sure that Will wasn't mentally someplace else, but he was. So she stood there in silence and watched him. He stood perfectly still for almost five minutes, and she didn't move, afraid of disturbing him. Then he sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. He pulled his glasses out of his coat pocket and put them on. Then he turned slowly around, surveying the room around him. He blinked when he saw her, seeming surprised to find her there.

But he didn't take a step towards her or say anything. He knew that she had watched him go through the motions of mentally reenacting what had happened just hours before in the house. Now he was waiting for her to speak, letting him know that she had mentally done the same as him, or to close her eyes and stay silent as she did it. So she lowered her gaze to the bloodstained carpet and closed her eyes.

Will stared. Maybe it was the fact that he had never met anyone with the same "gift" as the one he had. Or maybe it was the way Veronica started mouthing words. But he couldn't look away. Of course, he narrated every move he made as the killer in his head; he always had. But this was different; seeing someone do what he could do, and seeing the differences between them when she did. He realized that Veronica was probably silently narrating the killer's actions the same way he always did, though her lips were moving.

He studied her. Her posture; standing straight, shoulders squared, chin up. Her stance; wide, with her feet shoulder-width apart as if she was bracing herself to be hit by some invisible force. He studied her face; eyes closed, eyebrows drawn together only slightly, lips set in a firm line. And last, her expression; focused and intent and . . . pained.

Will waited until she took a deep breath and opened her eyes before he spoke. "Are you alright? You looked like you were . . . in pain."

She gave a wry smile. "Yeah. I haven't done this in a while."

He nodded once. There was a moment of silence and then he asked, "Well? What did you see?"

"You mean what did I do," she said.

He shrugged. "Yes, that."

She shrugged right back. "I killed them."

His eyes widened ever-so-slightly when she said it that way, but he knew what she meant. And while her voice was perfectly smooth and free of emotion, he could see in her eyes that she hated doing this just as much as he did, only she seemed to have a better handle on things than he did. "Yeah, so did I," he said after a moment of speculation. "What can you tell me about it?"

She took a moment of staring at the blood-covered walls and the eight dead bodies lying on the carpet on the other side of the room. Then she looked back at Will and when she looked into his eyes, he forgot to look away in distrust. "This was very . . . informative."

"Informative," he repeated. Then he waited for her to go on.

"I don't think our motherly or sisterly-figure is the killer."

He raised his eyebrows and she noticed the way the corners of his eyes creased just a bit as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile that didn't belong in this situation. She decided she would ask about it later.

So she pointed to the wall. "The words and the apologies and the reassurances; those were hers. But she didn't kill them. She's being forced to watch them die. That, or she's been convinced that they need to die and she needs to be here with them to keep them strong, but no matter what the real killer is telling her, she's having second thoughts and feeling bad, hence the loving deaths of their previous three victims and the blood-notes painted all over the room here."

She looked around the room again for a few minutes before asking, "What can you tell me from what you saw?"

This was usually where Will would either feel like puking his guts out or start seeing hallucinations, or both. But now he wasn't even afraid to say what he was thinking. "A paintbrush," he said. Then he motioned towards the words on the wall and said, "She was afraid to use her hands or her fingers to paint her notes, so she found an artist's brush somewhere in the house and she used that instead. That's why the letters are so smooth and the team couldn't find any prints."

Veronica nodded. "What else?"

Will shrugged. "I noticed everything you said. Also, the victims; they all had their throats slit. There wasn't much sign of a struggle from three of them, but the other five were thrashing when they went out. The blood on the floor wasn't our mother or sister's design. It was the result of the ones who didn't die quietly. Also, I don't think our female-figure was the one who wiped the blood on the couch. That was done with a hand and it was careless enough that we almost got a print, but unfortunately our killer was smart enough to wear gloves. The cheap blue plastic kind, I assume, based on the smell of them that I caught when we first walked in. Those are just thick enough to obscure handprints unless they're really stretched and unfortunately for use our murdering friend didn't do enough around here to stretch his or her gloves."

Veronica nodded. "Well done. Give yourself a pat on the back."

Will knew that it wasn't a competition of who had gotten more from their moments played as the killer, but there was a sort of exhilaration that came with knowing that there was one other person who could think exactly like him in certain situations, and he just _had_ to make sure that she really could think _exactly_ like him.

Just then Jack walked in. He waited for Veronica or Will to turn to him to let him know that they were done observing, and both of them turned to face him at once. Then, together, they explained what they had seen and what they thought. It was strange but exciting to not be the only one who had seen themselves as the killer and giving a report to Jack with Veronica telling half of it was enjoyable. Not to mention that their thoughts and stories were as perfectly aligned and fit together as well as if they had come from one mind and one experience instead of two.

When Jack was finished with them he said, "Alright, Will, I'll be done here in just a minute and then I can drive you home."

Both Will and Jack turned in surprise when Veronica said, "If you're busy and need to be here then I can always take him. I don't have to be anywhere."

Will opened his mouth to tell her that it was a very kind offer, but he had other arrangements for that evening. But Jack spoke before he could. "Thank you," he said. "But Will and I have some things to discuss when we're done here."

Veronica could have asked questions or she could have at least thrown a questioning glance Will's way, but when she turned to look at him she seemed completely satisfied with Jack's response to her offer. "I, uh, guess I'll see you around," she said. She flashed a smile and then nodded to Jack before leaving the house.

After the door had closed behind her Jack turned to Will and said, "You connected with her?" But it could hardly be called a question because he sounded so sure of himself when he said it.

Before Will could answer him Jack had turned and left him standing there, alone in the room with no one but the bloody corpses for company. He grimaced and closed his eyes, wishing there was something he could look at that was clean and didn't have any blood on it. He wished Veronica was there, and not just because she would be something to look at besides dead people and blood.

Jack returned, interrupting his thoughts, and they left the house.

They didn't have too long a drive to make it to Will's house, so Jack cut right to the chase and started talking as soon as they were in his truck. "So," he said as they started to drive, "What do you think of Veronica Franklin?"

Will stared out the window. "I think she's nice. She's sweet and friendly. And she's quiet, but still quirky in her own way."

Jack didn't respond for a few seconds, and Will wondered if he was trying to read deeper into what he'd said about her. Then, "So, would you mind having her along when we call you in? Would she make a compatible colleague?"

Now Will turned to look at Jack. "I thought you said I didn't have a say in the matter and that I needed to get used to her because she was my new colleague whether I liked it or not."

Jack shrugged, but his expression didn't change and his eyes didn't leave the road. He didn't answer Will. Instead, he said, "I'm still waiting for your answers."

Will sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I wouldn't mind if she came along when you needed me. And a compatible colleague? What is she now, my . . . partner?"

"Maybe," Jack said. "You seemed more comfortable when she was there than when you have to face these things alone."

"I was," Will said after a moment.

"Then do you think the two of you would work well together?"

Will nodded. Jack wasn't looking his way, but seemed to get the message.

They were almost to Will's house but Jack pushed another subject. "How did it work, having both of you in the room at once? She didn't interfere with your thinking?"

Will shook his head. "No."

"So her mind works a lot like yours."

"When it comes to solving murders and understanding the killer, yes," Will said. "Besides that, we're very different." He didn't add that he thought that they were somehow also very alike besides their "gifts."

"I see," was all Jack said.

Then they were parked outside of Will's house and Will was stepping out of Jack's truck and they were nodding to each other in silent farewells. Jack drove away and left Will standing in his yard.

He wanted to go inside and fall into bed and sleep for a month or two. And at the same time he wanted to just stand there in the frigid air, shivering, and stay a safe distance from sleep forever. But in reality he could do neither, so he went inside and fed his dogs before he left the house and got into his car. He drove, glancing back at his house in his rearview mirror as he left it behind. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he reached over and turned on the radio. He found the station that Veronica had said was her favorite and listened the last thirty seconds of some slow, sad song. Then the very same song that had played in Veronica's car came on, and he found himself turning it up and humming along.

When the song ended he kept the radio on, but wasn't really paying attention to the songs that played. Then he reached his destination and left his car in the parking lot, shoving his keys into his pocket and entering the now all-too-familiar building. There was something about it, and something about the man who waited for him inside, that was simultaneously welcoming and friendly and foreboding and eerie.

He had to wait only a matter of moments before the door opened and Hannibal Lecter stood there looking at him expectantly. Will stood and Dr. Lecter stepped aside, closing the door after Will had entered. Dr. Lecter sat down in his usual place, crossing his legs and leaning back as he always did, and Will started to pace back and forth, just as he had done since he had started coming to see this psychiatrist.

There was a moment of silence where Dr. Lecter waited to see if Will had anything to say. When Will didn't, he said, "You look well today, Will."

Will nodded and continued to pace in silence.

"Tell me about your day."

Will shrugged and slowed his pacing a bit. "I had to visit two different crime scenes today, both the work of the same killer."

"And how was that?"

Will took a deep breath, finding it in him to sit down and relax for a minute. "Stressful," he said, "and . . . different."

"What do you think made it different?"

Will paused for a minute to stare down at his hands. He continued to do so even when he answered. "I wasn't alone," he said at last.

"You are never alone, Will," Dr. Lecter said. "Jack and his team always accompany you to the crime scenes, do they not?"

"They do," Will said. "But this time there was someone else."

"Who?"

"My new _colleague_," Will said after a moment. "Veronica Franklin. Jack introduced us today and because of the latest murder, we've already started working together."

Dr. Lecter inclined his head, nodding once. "What do you think of this new colleague?"

Will heard a humorless laugh leave his lips. "Jack asked me the same thing."

"And what did you tell Jack when he asked you?"

"That I thought she was friendly and nice. And quiet, but quirky."

Dr. Lecter dipped his chin slightly. "I see."

"She has a very likeable personality," Will went on, "and she's probably the reason I look well today."

"Tell me, Will," Dr. Lecter said, "Do you _feel_ well?"

Will raised his eyebrows and nodded. "For the first time in what feels like a really long time, yes, I feel great. And people are telling me I look well. Nobody ever says that anymore."

"And have you experienced any hallucinations or loss of time today?"

"No loss of time. I remember everything perfectly. But hallucinations . . ." he trailed off.

"When did they occur?"

"At the first crime scene, right before Jack and I left to meet Veronica, and then at the second crime scene, just as Veronica and I were about to enter the house where Jack and the team were waiting for us." He paused for a moment, and then added, "The first was just as confusing and strange as they usually are, but the second . . ." He trailed off, picking back up a moment later with, "she . . . made it . . . go away."

"Who?"

"Veronica."

"She stopped your hallucinating?" It was more of a statement than a question. "How did she do that?"

"She . . . touched me," Will said. "I was feeling faint and weak and almost collapsed, and she put her hand on my arm to stop me from falling and as soon as she touched me, everything stopped. I could see again, I didn't feel too weak to stand, and I wasn't going to fall over anymore. And the hallucinations stopped."

"And do the hallucinations stop whenever anyone touches you?"

Will thought a moment. "No. People have touched me, have talked to me. But it's never done anything."

"Until now," Dr. Lecter supplied.

"Until now," Will agreed.

"And what do you see taking place in the future? What will come of your relationship with Veronica Franklin?"

Will Shrugged. "I have no idea."

"You seem . . . optimistic."

Will felt the corners of his mouth twitching upward ever-so-slightly. "I feel optimistic. Anything could happen in my future with Veronica, and I'm okay with that. I'm actually very interested in seeing how things turn out."

**Alright, here it is! The latest! As always, I'd love to hear what you thought of it, and of course I would also love to know any corrections or suggestions you have. Thank you all so very much for reading and being so loyal in waiting for me to update ~Taelr**


	4. Enjoyment

Will's eyes snapped open. He sat up, chest heaving, beads of sweat dripping down his face. His shirt was soaked. He glanced over at the clock. _6:30 AM_. It was late enough to get up, right? Sighing, he threw back the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As soon as his feet hit the floor he stood up and walked to the bathroom. There, he washed his face, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. He ran a wet hand through his already-soaked, sweaty hair and grabbed a towel to dry his face.

Back in his room he pulled off his damp shirt and tossed it into his laundry hamper, yanking on a new one and a pair of jeans. He threaded a belt through the loops around his waist and put on his glasses before snatching his coat as he made his way towards the door. All of the dogs were awake, and they watched him as he moved around the house. They all jumped up and ran to him when he opened the door, and he watched them trotting and loping out into the yard, which was dimly lit by the rising sun.

He spent the next half hour standing there and watching the dogs. At seven o'clock he went back inside and ate cold cereal for breakfast. By the time he'd thrown the sheets on his bed back over the mattress so that they looked acceptable, it was seven thirty. Jack had pulled him from teaching until they caught their latest killer, so he didn't have any plans for the day. The lack of plans and motivation was both wonderful and terrible; with nothing to do, he could relax, but relaxing meant that he would be doing a lot of thinking, and if he thought too much bad things could happen. He _did_ have another appointment with Dr. Lecter that evening, but that wasn't for twelve more hours.

It was eight thirty and Will was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper when his phone rang. He stared at it for several seconds before he set his paper aside and stood up to answer the call. He expected it to be Jack, calling him in because there had been another murder, but it wasn't. Instead, a familiar female voice greeted him.

"Will?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Hi. It's . . . um, it's Veronica."

He blinked in surprised. "Oh." Then he frowned and rubbed his eyes. "How did you get my number?"

He could almost hear the smile in her voice when she said, "Uh, I never got it from you yesterday, so I called Jack and he gave it to me . . . I hope that's alright."

"No, that's fine," Will said after a moment.

"Anyways," Veronica went on, "Believe it or not, I wasn't just calling to say hello."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I guess I should start by asking: are you busy today?"

Will didn't have to think it through. "Not unless Jack calls me in."

"Okay, great! Sorry to bother you so early in the morning. Do you feel like driving? Because if not, then I can worry about this later, I guess . . ." She trailed off.

But Will wasn't bothered at all by her call. He'd never been so happy to hear anyone's voice on the phone, and he didn't bother telling her that he'd already been up for two hours. "Um, no that's fine. I can drive."

"Okay, great. I need your help with something. You said you live outside of Quantico; the drive shouldn't take long to get here."

"Where are you?" he asked.

She gave him an address and he wrote it down, slipping the piece of paper into his pocket along with his keys.

"I'll see you in a little while, then?" Veronica asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Um, bye Will."

"Bye."

Will called the dogs and they came back inside, and he closed and locked his door behind him. He slid into the driver's seat and started the car, putting on his seat belt and letting the engine warm up a bit before he left his driveway. To pass the time while he waited for the engine, he flipped through the stations on his stereo and felt an involuntary smile forming itself on his lips when he found Veronica's station. Then he pulled out of his driveway and down the road, leaving his house behind yet again. But he wasn't at all upset or annoyed at having to leave. In fact, he was happy to be going. He might not know much about Veronica, but so far she had been nothing but kind and friendly and utterly approachable, and if she wanted his help then he would do whatever she needed him to.

He found the address Veronica had given him and parked on the curb outside of an apartment complex. Veronica was sitting on a bench in front of the building, and she smiled when Will left his car and walked up.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning," he nodded in return. "So . . . how can I help?"

Her smile widened. "There's someone I need you to meet. Then we'll figure out if you can help or not."

Will was a bit confused by this, but he followed her willingly into the complex and up a flight of stairs. They stopped outside of an apartment and Will was just beginning to wonder who he was meeting and who lived there when Veronica pulled out her own key ring to unlock the door. "Your apartment?" he asked.

She nodded and opened the door, stepping inside and closing the door behind Will after he'd entered.

"Wow," he said. They had stepped into a small living room, and from what he could see, Veronica's apartment was clean and tidy a bright. She had pictures of family and friends on the walls, and he wanted to walk over and look at them all. But he turned his attention back to Veronica when she started to move. He followed her down a hallway and through a door and found himself standing in her kitchen. The first thing he noticed was a dog with reddish-brown fur lying on a rug in front of the oven. The dog looked up and wagged its tail when they entered the room, and he stood up and trotted over to them to be petted.

"Who's this?" Will asked as he scratched the dog behind the ears.

"I don't know," Veronica said. "This is who I wanted you to meet, and he's what I need your help with. I'd love to keep him but there's a really strict no-pets-allowed rule here, and with Jack calling me back onto the field I won't be home enough to take him for walks or feed him on time, and he wouldn't stay very quiet. I've talked to the manager, and he said I could keep this guy here for today until I could find someone to take him. I found him last night on my way home. He was running around the neighborhood without a collar or anything and I caught him and called every family I knew that had a dog, but none of theirs are missing. I've checked for missing dog articles all over the place online and in the papers and I can't find any, so I eventually brought him here and decided to call you. I even took him to the vet, but they said he didn't have a chip."

Will nodded and smiled down at the dog, who was looking up at him with adoring eyes, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"Do you have room in your house for another family member?" Veronica asked, looking as if she was afraid to get her hopes up. "I mean, I know you already have seven, and that's a lot, so if you can't take him, I understand . . ."

"No, I think we could make room for him," Will said.

She smiled, but it faltered when he added, "On one condition."

She took a deep breath. "And what's that?"

Will had been looking at the dog, but now he looked up at her. "You have to give him a name."

She frowned. "You're the one who's taking him home!" But her complaints were only halfhearted.

"You give him a name, I give him a home," Will said.

"Fine," Veronica said, though a smile was tugging at her lips. "He looks like a Rusty."

Will smiled and looked down at the dog. "Rusty it is," he said.

Veronica smiled and said, "Of course you realize that even though I'm giving him to you, I'll have to come visit him to make sure he's doing well?"

"Of course," Will agreed.

They fell silent and stood there for a while, Veronica leaning against the wall and staring at the wall in thought and Will stroking Rusty's head. After a few minutes the quiet started to lean away from comfortable and drifted more into an awkward silence, broken only by Rusty's panting and the quiet sound his wagging tall made when it came in contact with the linoleum flooring.

Will glanced up at Veronica when she seemed to suddenly come back from her thoughts and said loudly, "Oh my god! I'm sorry; have you eaten this morning yet? If I took you before breakfast then I could make you something. Or, would you like something to drink? There's tea, coffee, hot chocolate, juice . . .?"

Will smiled. "I already ate. But thank you. Uh, some tea would be nice, though."

She had looked very concerned that she'd caused him to miss breakfast, but her face brightened and she smiled when he asked for tea. "Of course," she said, walking across the kitchen and opening a cupboard.

While her back was turned, Will had a moment to look around the kitchen and then focus on what Veronica was wearing. He never paid any attention to what anyone was wearing except for himself, but he was actually curious when it came to Veronica for some reason. The day before she'd worn her hair down and had been dressed in jeans, a nice shirt, her red scarf, and what Will assumed had been fashionable slipper-things. He thought they were called _flats_, but wasn't quite sure. Today Veronica seemed a lot more laid back, though, as if she'd planned on spending the day at home; she was wearing a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees, a simple t-shirt, and tattered-looking sneakers. But it was her hair that he found his eyes most drawn to. She'd pulled it back in a messy bun, and some of the shorter bits had slipped out and hung down to frame her face. And there was something about her plain, comfortable look that made Will like her even more than he had the previous day.

Will was lost in thought, but he took a deep breath to clear his mind and come back to reality when Veronica turned around with a mug in each hand. He followed her to the table and they sat down across from each other, just as they'd been the day before.

"I didn't take you to be a _tea kind of guy_," she said once they'd taken their seats.

He smirked. "Really?"

She shrugged. "Most men aren't really into tea. Most American men, anyways. Go to England and it's an entirely different story."

He smiled. "You've been to England?"

She nodded. "Once. And only for a week. It was nice, and very beautiful, but the weather there is very different than what I'm used to."

"Where exactly did you go?" Will asked.

"London. Typical, I know. I actually had a friend who got married there, and our families had always been so close; we couldn't turn down the invitation."

"How long ago was the wedding?"

"Four years."

Will nodded. He didn't think he'd be overstepping any bounds by making a joke, so he asked, "But you didn't fall in love with any Brits and their charming accents? Why not?"

She laughed. "No. There was actually one who was a year younger than me and a bit too interested for his own good. He was some distant relative of the groom, so naturally I had to deal with his following me around all week long. I've always thought it would be just lovely to live in London, you know? And then I went on that trip and was followed around and bothered all week by a guy who couldn't take a hint. I think it kind of turned me off to the whole living-in-London thing."

Will grinned. "That seems understandable."

They were quiet for a moment, and then he changed the subject. "Do you have any siblings?" he asked.

She nodded. "Four younger brothers," she said.

"Wow," he said. "That must have been . . . fun. What're their names?"

She took a sip of tea before she answered him. "Tye, Daniel, Zachary and Josh. Tye's the baby of the family, and there's a ten year age gap between us, so he still lives with my parents."

"He's in high school?" Will asked.

She nodded. Then she asked, "What about you?"

Will shook his head. "I was an only child."

"Oh. That's too bad. But I guess there are some pluses to being the only one, right?"

Will nodded. "Sure. I'm sure you had lots of fun with your brothers, but they all have to get annoying _sometimes_."

Veronica nodded. "Yes, they definitely do. I was lucky to be the only girl; it meant I had my own room. The boys all shared one giant bedroom with two bunk beds."

"That must have been nice," was all Will said. "Where did you grow up? Do your parents still live there?"

She nodded again. "Yeah, believe it or not, I'm a country girl. I grew up just outside a small town in Montana. My parents had—and still have—a cattle ranch."

"So you're a cowgirl?" Will asked.

She lifted up her hands. "Born and raised."

Will smiled. "Nice. Then you rode horses and branded and did all the cowboy stuff?"

"Yep. We were the real deal."

Will took a sip of his tea. "That's pretty cool."

They talked for a while more. It was easy for Will to get lost what they talked about, no matter what turns the conversation took or what they talked about. They talked about where they'd grown up, what life had been life with siblings versus without them, all of the different places they'd ever lived, which places they liked best, their places they'd always dreamed—and still did dream—of living in. They shared worst first-date stories, though Veronica had Will beat there. They talked about their first jobs and what their dreams and aspirations had been when they'd graduated high school and how much those had changed over the years.

At one point during the conversation, Will let his gaze drift over the room around him. His eyes were drawn to the clock on the wall, and he started in surprise. "Noon?" he said out loud.

Veronica stopped talking and glanced at him, turning around to look at the clock. "Whoa," she said. "I hope you didn't have anything to do? I'm so sorry for taking so much of your ti-"

"No," he said before she could finish apologizing. "I didn't have any plans for the day. I was just surprised to see that it's . . ." he trailed off. "I guess time really does fly when you're having fun."

"No kidding," Veronica said, a smile parting her lips as she stood up and took the two mugs off of the table. She walked to the sink and took only a moment to wash them and set them upside-down on a rack to dry. She turned around when she had finished and leaned back against the counter. "Well," she said after a minute or two of silence had passed, "Do you need to be going or would you like some lunch?"

"Oh, you already made me tea and listened to my rambling . . ." Will started to say.

"Oh, yeah," Veronica interrupted sarcastically, "You already took several hours of my time and some of my tea; how dare you impose by asking for a sandwich and some chips!"

"But I really don't want to make you-" Will tried again, but she didn't let him finish.

"No! No. If you don't have anywhere to be, then _please_ let me make you some lunch."

She looked so eager, and her eyes were so pleading, Will admitted to himself that he may have gotten just a little lost in those dark brown orbs of hers. "Fine," he said after a moment, but his voice was thick with defeat and the stubbornness was gone from his expression.

Veronica noticed the look on his face. His eyes seemed to be asking for her forgiveness for his being so adamant, and she frowned at him. He looked worried and afraid that he'd offended her when she frowned, so she said exactly what she was thinking: "Will, you don't need to apologize for not wanting to impose. It was . . . sweet."

And then she was swinging out of her seat and onto her feet. She'd returned to the table, but now she turned her back on Will again and made a hasty retreat to the far side of the kitchen and the fridge. She may have hurried just a bit and hidden behind the refrigerator door because she was blushing and afraid of what he thought of her last few words.

" . . . Thanks . . ." he said quietly as she was walking away.

She took an extra few seconds to grab the lunch meat, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and mayonnaise, but eventually she had to straighten and close the fridge door. She turned to face him, thankful that the heat had faded from her cheeks. "Oh it's no problem," she answered, "It's just a sandwich-"

"That's not what I was talking about," he said.

She had been heading for the counter, but when he spoke she stopped and turned to look at him. "Oh," she heard herself say.

Will watched Veronica's cheeks flush pink and the tips of her ears redden. He had to fight the smile that wanted to form on his lips when she blushed; she was rather cute when she was flustered. He had felt a strange twinge of pleasure and happiness when she called his behavior "cute" and he smirked as she clutched the sandwich-fixings to her chest, nearly dropping them on her way to the counter. She pulled a loaf of bread from the cupboard near her head and took out four slices before she put the loaf back into its bag and closed the cupboard door. She produced two plates from somewhere and set the slices of bread on them. Then she found a butter knife and opened the jar of mayonnaise.

"Mayonnaise?" she asked without looking at him.

"Yes, please."

He watched her smear it on all four pieces of bread. Then, without turning to him, she asked, "Cheese?"

"Can I just ask for everything now instead of you having to list it all?" he asked.

He saw the way the corner of her mouth twisted up into a half-smile. "Of course," she said.

Moments later the sandwiches were ready and she walked over to the table, setting a plate in front of him and then one in her own place. Then she turned and put everything back in the fridge. She opened the door to her small pantry and asked, "Barbeque or sour cream and onion?"

"This is fine," he said, "I don't need chips . . ."

"Well, that's too bad," she said, returning to the table with both bags of chips. "Because whether you need them or not, you're eating some." After a moment she said, "There's plain potato chips too, if you want those instead."

He sighed and gave in. "No, no," he said, "Barbeque is fine."

"Wonderful," she said, opening the bag of Barbeque chips and leaving her seat to return the sour cream and onion bag to the pantry. She was back in her place across from him a moment later. He hadn't touched the chips and had been waiting to eat until she sat down, and she frowned at him. "I didn't think I'd ever say this," she said after a moment of staring at him, "but I think I've finally found a man who is _too_ polite."

Will gave a small smile. "I'm sorry."

"Gah! Look at you! Now you're apologizing for being too polite!"

"I'm sor-" he started to say, but she cut him off before he could finish apologizing for apologizing for being too polite.

She reached into the bag of chips and grabbed a handful, dropping them in a pile on Will's plate. "Just . . . eat some chips and stop being so polite and apologetic," she ordered. Her voice was stern, but Will didn't miss the smile that she tried to hold back.

But he wanted to please her, so he _did_ start eating. But she'd only just joined him and swallowed her first bite when she said, "Oh!" and jumped up from her seat. She was in front of the fridge with the door open in a flash. "What do you want to drink?" she asked. "I've got water, iced tea, milk, five flavors of soda, and beer. But I could make you coffee or more hot tea if you like."

He swallowed the bite of food he'd just put in his mouth and said, "So many options . . . I guess I'll go with soda. What are my options _there_?"

She flashed a smile before turning back to look in the fridge. "We've got Orange, Strawberry, Cream, Pepsi and Sprite."

"Sprite," he said without hesitation.

"Great," she said, and she wasn't being sarcastic. She walked back to the table and set down, setting his Sprite in front of him and a strawberry soda in front of herself.

They had only just finished eating and were quietly sipping their sodas when she said suddenly, "Names of all the dogs who live with you now, including Rusty. Go."

Will took a deep breath. "This is gonna take a minute," he said. The breath caught in his throat when Veronica smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She leaned forward, anticipation clear in her expression.

**First, I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially on my last chapter. All the encouraging things you said were so very uplifting and made me so excited about continuing this story! Your reviews always make my day. So, would you mind letting me know how you liked this one? Thanks. **

**I know some of you wanted more Hannibal in this chapter. And to be honest, I'd planned on fitting him into this one. But he'll just have to make an appearance in chapter 5. I hope you can forgive me for his absence for the moment, but I promise he'll be back soon enough. And we just might get a peek into that strange, frightening, magnificent brain of his to see what he thinks of Veronica. Who knows, they might even cross paths and meet each other somehow . . . maybe.**

**Anyways, thank you all so much again. You are all so very important to me! ~Taelr**


	5. Anticipation

Veronica had never met anyone quite like Will Graham before. Not only did he share her unusual ability to empathize with anyone, but they were very alike in other ways. They had similar tastes and got along very well, and even though she hadn't yet known him for a week, Veronica knew that Will was someone who would be a part of her life for a very long time. They would at least be friends, she knew. And from what she could tell, Will didn't have too many friends. She didn't have a vast number of them herself, but if she could have Will as her one and only friend then he would always be enough.

Will had left her house a few hours after they ate lunch. He'd wanted to properly introduce Rusty to the rest of the family and make sure that they were alright before he left his home again. Veronica hadn't said anything, but Jack had told her quite a bit about Will Graham. She knew that he was seeing a psychiatrist by the name of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. She knew that he lived alone aside from his seven—now eight—dogs. She knew that he'd had a falling out with Alana Bloom. But that was as far as Veronica had allowed Jack to go in his description of Will. She'd cut him off with a sharp, "Jack! Stop. I'd like to meet him and get to know him like anyone else would."

She could remember, Jack had looked at her strangely and said, "That's the thing. No one gets to know Will. Not really. Dr. Lecter knows him, but he's Will's psychiatrist, not his friend. Alana Bloom and he were getting close, and then . . . well, now you know what happened."

She'd sighed. "I wanted to know the basics, Jack. I wanted you to tell me a little bit about his personality and the things he liked. I didn't want you to share personal information of his with me."

She'd felt as if she had betrayed Will's trust and dug deeper than he would have wanted her to, even if he had no idea. She'd met Alana Bloom at one point, years before. But they had spoken to one another for only a matter of moments, and Veronica had only a fleeting first impression of the psychiatrist to go by. So she'd chosen to stay far away from the subject of Will and Alana's relationship and its falling through. Part of her worried constantly that the subject—or one similar to it—would come up when she was talking to Will. Of course, if they were friends—or ever became more than that—for any amount of time, they were eventually going to be discussing all kinds of different topics. She'd already made up her mind; if and when they did talk about Alana Bloom and his relationship—or any of the other things she knew more about than she should for that matter—she was going to be completely honest with him. She wasn't going to lie and pretend that she had no knowledge of the subject beforehand.

Even as Veronica thought over what she would say if Will ever opened up about Alana or the darker parts of his past, Will was thinking of her.

He was, at the moment, driving to Dr. Lecter's office. He would have a few minutes to spend in the waiting room, but he didn't mind. He had plenty of good things to think about to keep his mind busy during that time. As long as his thoughts were on Veronica or something to do with her, he didn't mind thinking so much as he usually did.

Punctual and perfectly on time, just as he always was, Dr. Lecter opened the door and asked Will to come inside.

Dr. Lecter took his usual seat, but this time Will sat down to face him. And tonight, Will didn't need any questions to prompt him or get him to speak.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said as soon as he'd seated himself. "Part of me thinks she might be the best thing that's ever happened to me, and another part of me is afraid that she and I will end up like Alana and I did.

"But she's so perfect in every way. I mean, obviously she has flaws; she human. Of course she doesn't always do things the right way or just the way I'd do them myself. But if any person was ever perfect, it's her. And if anyone was ever perfect for me, it's her. She's so bubbly and sweet and kind and friendly, but also withdrawn in a way that makes it clear that we don't have to be close and personal if that's not what I want. And she's so patient and utterly . . . tolerant. She doesn't expect me to give excuses or reasons for everything I do and say. She offers friendship and doesn't ask for anything from me in return. And she thinks I'm too polite. I don't know what to do.

"I want to get closer to her but I'm also worried that I'll end up getting hurt or rejected, or worse; I could end up hurting her. If I ever hurt her at all I could never forgive myself. She's so good and kind and bright and happy all of the time. And I know she's had her darker moments, but she's so honest and open with me. And trusting. She has nothing to hide, and she makes that clear. I feel like I could trust her with anything and she wouldn't let me down.

"And when it comes to what she likes and how she lives, she's perfect for me. She can be loud and funny when she wants to be, but she's also the kind of girl that likes to curl up on the couch with a blanket and some tea and a good book. And she likes to dress up and be pretty and fashionable, but she grew up where they were always working and didn't usually dress up very much, so she's perfectly okay with walking around in ripped jeans and a t-shirt. We talked today, for several hours, actually, and I learned things about her I would never have guessed.

"She doesn't want a glamorous life; she just wants to find someone, fall in love with them, settle down, have a family. She doesn't want money or property or fame or anything special; just someone to love who loves her back.

"I know it's far-fetched to assume that our futures are entwined, especially since I've only known her for two days. But she and I . . . we're the perfect match. Or so it seems. She's exactly the kind of person I could see myself loving. And I know that _she could love me back_. It's always so iffy, can-she-love-me, can-she-not stuff. But with Veronica . . . I don't know. I just have this certainty that no matter what happens to me, no matter how unstable I feel, she won't be afraid of being in a relationship. She won't be afraid of being there for me, whether as a friend or something more. She'll be more than willing to act as a crutch; I know she will.

"And when I'm around her, I don't feel unstable. You can put me in any situation, with blood and bodies and stress and unanswered questions, and as long as she's there I feel perfectly fine.

"I feel compelled to get to know her even better. I mean, have you ever met someone, and the moment they first said a word to you, you just knew that the two of you were at least meant to be friends, if not more?"

Dr. Lecter paused for a long moment. Then, with a strange look in his eyes, he answered, "It is very rare for the occurrence you described to take place, but I have indeed had such an encounter. It is a very unique experience."

"And you still speak to the person?" Will asked.

Dr. Lecter paused again. Then a smile formed on his lips and he said, "Yes. In fact, we are very close friends."

Will smiled in return. "That's good," he said.

The doctor nodded. "Indeed it is. It is not too often that such a man as myself finds someone who truly understands him."

Will nodded once.

They spoke for the rest of the hour, and then Will left the office.

He and Veronica didn't see anything more of each other for the rest of the week, and half of the next. But though they were apart, Veronica never left Will's thoughts. And she often thought of him, as well. Throughout the week Will tried to think of reasons to invite Veronica out to his place or just to see her again, but he told himself that another murder could be anticipated and that he would be seeing her at a crime scene again soon enough.

And on a Tuesday, exactly a week and a day after the first murder, Will answered his phone and Jack was the one calling. They spoke briefly and Will was in the car and on his way to the scene as soon as they hung up.

Will parked on the curb in front of the unfamiliar house he was about to step into and glanced around, subconsciously looking for Veronica's black highlander. And there it was, not far from where he'd parked his own car.

He stepped out and walked up to the door, sighing. He might be pleased that he was seeing Veronica, but they were only seeing each other here because someone had died, and seeing her didn't change the fact that he hated doing this.

But as soon as he stepped inside his whole attitude changed. Jack was right there, waiting for him, and he led him upstairs and into a bedroom, where the bodies of two people waited for him. Jack stopped him outside the door of the bedroom and said, "She said to send you in when you got here, but go in quietly just in case you're interrupting."

Will nodded and entered the room as quietly as he could, closing the door softly behind him before he turned to look around the room. And there she was. Veronica was standing in the corner on his right, only a few feet away.

Will was surprised at the lack of red. Their mystery killer usually left plenty of his victim's blood smeared, spilt, or sprayed all over the room. But here there was none. The only signs that there had ever been a death in this house were the two dead people lying in the king-size bed across the room. Will wondered momentarily if Veronica was busy mentally reconstructing the murder, but as soon as he entered and his eyes found her, she turned and looked at him.

"Hi, Will," she said quietly, almost as if she was afraid that talking too loud would unceremoniously shatter the still, quiet atmosphere around them.

"Hello," he said just as quietly.

**Okay, I know I told you guys that I'd try and fit a scene into this one with Hannibal and Veronica, but it's just not going to work for this chapter. But I promise such a meeting will occur next chapter, and I promise to start working on that soon.**

**One of my readers (you know who you are) has asked if I will be following the episodes as I write this story. And I have to say that I don't think I will. *SPOILER ALERT* As many of you know, the season finale of Hannibal that aired just last week ended with Will Graham behind bars. I suppose I could fit that into my story, but my plot is a bit different than the show's, so I don't think that will be the case. **

**As always, any additions/corrections/suggestions you may have after reading are quite welcome! Thank you all so very much for reading! ~Taelr**


	6. Honesty

They spent almost an hour at the crime scene and then another back at the lab, and when at last Jack was satisfied with Will and Veronica's explanation and analysis, he let them leave. As the two of them walked out into the parking lot and towards their cars, Will was frantically scrambling for what to say to keep Veronica around for just a bit longer.

She'd reached her highlander and was putting her bag into the back seat when he realized that he'd followed her to her car instead of walking to his own. Searching for a quick explanation, he knew he looked confused and that he had his mouth half-open when she turned around and saw him there.

She raised her eyebrows at him, but when his half-baked excuses for following her failed to form on his lips, she smiled. She looked a little unsure, but seemed to understand what he was struggling to say and said smoothly, "I'm starving. Have you ever been to that little diner at the edge of town? They have the best lunch selection this side of the city."

Will raised his eyebrows and nodded once. "Oh," he said. He hadn't felt truly flustered around anyone but Veronica in quite a while, and the affect she had on him was going to take some getting used to. Then he realized that he hadn't yet answered her and he added hastily, "Uh, no, I've never eaten there."

"Great," she said, seeming completely unfazed by his befuddled behavior, "I'll buy." Then she cocked an eyebrow and said, "But only if you drive."

Will nodded and said, "Great."

She already had her purse with her, and she locked her car as they walked away. Or rather, as she walked up beside him and he remembered that they were supposed to be making their way towards his car.

As they walked up and he pressed the button to automatically unlock all of the doors, he started to feel self-conscious. Then questions started playing in his head. When was the last time he'd vacuumed out the car? Had he made sure to clean under the seats? And he recalled eating out the other night; had he remembered to throw away the wrappers and other trash or was it all still in the backseat? He hadn't been interested in how clean his car was in so long, it was a little disorienting to suddenly feel so concerned.

But when he slid into the driver's seat and Veronica climbed into shotgun, he realized that his car was nearly spotless. And Veronica didn't seem too interested in any part of the interior of the car besides the stereo.

As they were making their way out of the parking lot she pointed to it and asked, "May I?"

"Of course." He heard the words come out of his mouth even though he hadn't really thought to say them.

She smiled as she fiddled with the buttons and knobs until she found her station. Will knew, of course, that it didn't really belong to her. But ever since the day they'd met, anytime he heard the station or thought of it, he thought of it as hers.

She turned up the radio a bit, but only enough so that the music could be easily heard. The volume was still low enough that they could comfortably and quietly talk and still be heard by one another.

Aside from the music there was silence in the car, but Will broke it soon enough. "Do you go to the diner often?"

She shrugged. "Occasionally. But I've been there enough times to know what I like and who all of the clerks and cooks are."

Will found himself nodding again. "Hmm," was all he said, but he sounded interested, and it was enough to set Veronica on a new course of conversation.

"Jack thinks he's getting close," she said.

Will only nodded once and he kept quiet, but he seemed interested in spite of his silence.

"Before you showed up he was talking about the case and how it should be closed soon. Turns out a second-cousin of one of the original victims was kidnapped from her home in Montreal almost two months ago. And she was apparently very close to the vic. Jack's sure she's our sisterly-figure and that she's been leaving all of the lovely notes and messages painted on the walls. _And_ she was supposedly seen at a rural gas station within fifty miles of the last crime scene. The camera got a profile shot of the guy with her, but it was dark when the pictures were snapped and the security cam was a really cheap one, so the quality of the photo isn't too good. They're sure it's the girl, though. They just don't know about her partner—or kidnapper, if that's what he is."

Will nodded again. "Good," was all he said.

They made the drive to the diner and Will couldn't help but find it inviting. As soon as they stepped inside, the atmosphere changed from the busy one of the city outside to the more comforting, home-like feel of a place with good food and good company. They found a table and sat down, and Will couldn't help but flash back to the day he'd first met Veronica. He knew that they hadn't met _that_ long ago, and yet he still felt as if he'd known her nearly forever.

Soon enough a waitress had come around and they'd ordered their food. The two of them sat in silence for a little while, and then Veronica spoke. But Will didn't hear a word of what she said; he was a bit distracted at the moment.

He had glanced out the large window beside their table and frozen where he sat. A massive elk was walking down the sidewalk towards the diner, and it was looking straight at him. But it wasn't the strangeness of the situation or the oddity of the idea that had rendered him tense and unable to move. No, it was the creature's eyes that left him paralyzed. For they weren't the eyes of an animal, but rather those of an intelligent human being. In those eyes he could see cunning and quiet fury and danger.

Veronica asked Will what he'd been up to between being called in about the murders, but he didn't answer. So she looked up from her drink to see if perhaps he hadn't heard her. The sight that met her eyes was quite frightening; Will's eyes were wide and he looked afraid, and all of the color had drained from his face. His mouth was hanging slightly open and his breath was leaving his lips in short, quiet, unnatural gasps. Then she glanced down at his hands, one of which was resting on the table in front of him. It was shaking, and she realized that he was trembling all over.

She turned in her seat and followed his gaze, out the window and to the sidewalk where he stared. But she saw nothing out of the ordinary. A woman and a young boy were walking out of a store across the street, but Will's eyes were not on them. Rather, he was focused on the empty air over the cement just outside of the diner. Her eyes darted between Will's eyes and the place he was looking, and she realized that his gaze was slowly moving, as if he was following someone or something that was slowly but surely approaching them.

"Will?" she asked quietly.

He didn't respond. He wasn't even blinking, his eyes still fixed on empty air outside.

She turned around to look out the window again, but there was still nothing there. So she turned back to him. "Will," she said again, this time a bit louder.

Will could hear nothing but the steady, terrifying sound of the elk's hooves hitting the cement as it approached. The diner was all quiet to him, and Veronica had all but disappeared in his mind. But he was paying attention to nothing but the fact that the elk was still getting closer. Now it was close enough that he could see the breath leaving its nostrils and he could clearly hear every time it inhaled. He shouldn't be able to hear it through the window, but he could. He didn't dare to blink or look away for even a second.

Veronica had paused, taking another moment to observe Will's invisible _something_, and it was when she turned back to him that it occurred to her that he wasn't breathing. She could hear no breath entering or leaving his lungs, and his chest had ceased to rise and fall.

"Will!" She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, giving it a sharp squeeze as she said his name.

With a jolt, Will came back. He blinked once and the elk was no longer there. He leaned forward to see where it had gone, but it was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he realized that someone was squeezing his hand, and he looked down as he leaned back. He looked down at her hand for a moment before letting his gaze follow her arm and eventually rise to her face. She looked both alarmed and concerned, and she was leaning forward so she could reach his hand with her own.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised because he'd just been about to ask the same of her. Then he shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts and took a deep breath. "Fine," he said.

But the frown didn't leave her face. "Are you sure, because I'm pretty sure you stopped breathing a minute ago."

He took several breaths. "Did I?" he asked, trying to shrug it off as nothing. "I'm fine now."

She nodded slowly and her expression cleared, but she still looked suspicious. "What did you see?"

He had glanced out the window, but he turned back to her in an instant. "What?" he asked.

"What did you see?" she repeated.

He opened his mouth to make some excuse, but the words just wouldn't pass his lips. She was looking at him, her attention on him and him alone, completely interested in his wellbeing and genuinely concerned for him. And the sad, concerned look in her eyes was too much. He couldn't lie to her and tell her that he'd thought he saw an old friend. He couldn't say that just a moment before she turned and looked there was a stray dog that ran by or a pigeon with a broken wing that flopped down the walk. He had to tell her the truth.

But when he refocused on her, expecting her to be looking at him impatiently, she was still waiting with patience and grace. After another moment of silence between them she said quietly, "You don't have to tell me."

He frowned; she was always so forgiving towards him, especially when he failed to give a proper reason or excuse for something. Then she gave his hand a gentle squeeze and he realized that she was still touching him. She hadn't leaned back and let go of him, even when he hesitated to answer a simple question of hers. And he decided right then that he had to tell her. He had to tell her everything.

He shifted in his seat, not realizing that as he did he moved his arm and turned his hand over. Before Veronica had been holding his hand, but he hadn't been holding hers. Because he had moved his arm she was able to lean back without letting go of him. But as she leaned back, she moved her hand and laced her fingers together with his.

He looked down at their hands, hers twined with his and gently holding on, and his lying there, limp and unresponsive. Slowly, quite unsure of himself, he closed his fingers around hers and held on just as gently but firmly as she was. Then his gaze rose slowly to her face. It had been so long since he'd held someone's hand, and Veronica's touch alone seemed so perfect. Holding her hand was like having an anchor. It was like she was gravity and she was the only thing keeping him from fading away into oblivion. But the gravity of her touch wasn't confining or restraining; it was quite freeing. It was a feeling like no other, like he was simultaneously finding something to tie himself to and being set free to do as he pleased.

He felt quite sure that the moment Veronica drew back and stopped touching him, the feeling of safety and sureness and comfort would leave him. But he couldn't think about that now; now she _was_ still touching him and he still felt protected.

He came back to the present and realized that he was looking right into her eyes when she said again, quietly, "You don't have to tell me, you know. I just got a little worried, you know, what with you not breathing and all."

Will felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. But then he became serious again. "No," he said quietly, "I want to tell you."

She nodded. "Okay."

They both looked up in surprise when their waitress appeared with a platter of food. She set a plate in front of either of them and asked if they needed anything else. Will said no and thanked her for bringing the food, and Veronica offered a kind smile before the woman turned and walked away. Both of them had quite forgotten where they were and that there were other people around.

Will hesitated but eventually let go of Veronica's hand and nodded toward her food. He was holding the hand that she needed to use to pick up her fork and eat. She let go at the same moment he did, and he felt chills run up his spine at the sudden lonely, vulnerable way he felt as soon as her hand wasn't in his.

They ate, and after a few minutes Will knew where he was going to start. "It . . . affects me," he said.

Veronica looked up from her food and waited for him to go on.

"This kind of work," he went on. "I'm supposed to get into the heads of the killers so I can figure out how to stop them. But most of the time it just feels like _they're_ getting in _my_ head."

She nodded. "I know the feeling," she said quietly.

Will took a deep breath. "I have . . . nightmares. And . . ." he paused, wondering what her reaction would be. Then he found what he should say and he continued, "Lately I've been seeing and hearing things that aren't . . . actually there. I got all kinds of scans and tests, but they couldn't find anything. I think . . ." he had looked away, but now he looked back to her face. He finished so quietly that she barely heard, "I think I might be losing my mind."

He swallowed and waited for her reaction, watching her face closely. But contrary to his expectations, she didn't start acting strangely or alienate him. She just looked right back at him and asked, "You mean, you think you might be going . . . insane?"

He nodded.

She bit her lip for a moment before she spoke again. "Why? I mean, I know you just said that you have nightmares and hallucinations, but those could be symptoms of something as simple as inflammation in your brain or spine. Is there something else?"

Will decided to take a risk. "Do you know Alana Bloom?" he asked. Her name didn't feel right on his lips, especially when he was saying it in the presence of Veronica.

"I've met her," Veronica said. "We're hardly what you could call acquaintances, but I am quite familiar with her work and her reputation."

Will gave a small, apologetic smile before he spoke again. "She didn't want to be _involved_ with me, because she thought I was unstable."

He expected his words to bring up many questions from Veronica, but she hardly acknowledged that he'd mentioned wanting to be in a relationship with Alana. Instead, she just asked, "Do you feel unstable?"

"Most of the time," Will admitted.

Again, she surprised him; he expected her to be judgmental or react strangely to his admitting that he didn't feel stable. But she just said, "I've heard that psychiatrists use a certain technique among their patients who don't feel in control of their lives."

"What's the technique?" Will asked.

"Well, if I recall correctly," she said slowly "The Psychiatrist would help his or her patient to find someone or something in their life that made them feel stable, whether it was a dog or a family member or the presence of a certain article of clothing or piece of jewelry. Then they would establish a way for the patient to always feel linked with whatever made them feel stable. They would do it with anything, whether it was by wearing their favorite scarf wherever they went or always having a certain necklace with them, or taking their dog with them. The person or animal or object could keep the patient grounded all the time just by being there.

"Is there someone or something in your life that you feel stable around?" she asked.

Will took a deep breath and thought for a moment. He thought about his dogs, and though they offered some comfort they didn't necessarily give him any intense feelings of stability. He thought about a number of things, but always his thoughts would turn back to Veronica. She was the only thing that could make him feel truly safe and stable, and she was the only person who could, with a single touch, bring him back from his hallucinations. He wondered in passing whether her touch could wake and relieve him from his nightmares as well. But then he realized that she was still waiting patiently for his answer and he focused on her again.

"There is one thing," he said slowly. "One person, actually."

Veronica brightened immediately. "Great! Who?"

Will took a deep breath. He looked away for a long moment, and then he finally looked into her eyes again. "You."

He looked away as soon as he'd said it, regretting it and wondering if she'd be offended or feel awkward around him now.

"Really?" she asked. But her voice was kind and when he met her eyes again they were full of emotions he hadn't expected. She seemed compassionate and sympathetic, but more than that she seemed genuinely surprised and honored that she of all people and things was the only one that made him feel stable.

He nodded once.

"Just . . . out of curiosity," she said quietly after a moment, "how do I make anything better?"

Will felt awkward and embarrassed, but he spoke his mind anyway. "Your presence is . . . comforting," he said after a moment. He shrugged. Then he went on, feeling incredibly stupid, "and your touch . . . it pulls me out of my hallucinations immediately."

He saw her eyes widen ever-so-slightly.

"You were hallucinating earlier," she said. It wasn't a question.

He nodded.

"What did you see?" she asked.

He looked down and realized that their hands were still intertwined, and even as he spoke about the creature that had frightened him, he started to smile.

They talked for quite a while longer, their food long forgotten.

**Hello there! Goodness, I know it's been quite a while since I updated. For that you have my sincerest apologies. I went on a mission trip not long ago and was gone for nearly two weeks (without internet or my laptop, I might add), and just this last week my brothers and I participated in our county fair and we were there all day every day all week long. So I have had very little time to write. At any rate, please accept this new chapter as a peace offering and a promise to do my best and write another very soon! Thank you all so very much for reading my story. It really means so much to me! ~Taelr**


	7. Distrust

Veronica sighed deeply as she set her purse on the cushion beside her and settled back to read her book. She'd never had any trouble with hallucinations, but vivid nightmares troubled her often and when she confided in Will about it, he recommended that she start seeing his psychologist, Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

She hadn't been too sure about it, but she trusted Will and he assured her that Hannibal had been a great help to him recently, so she decided to try it. But she was only coming for one session. This was the first and possibly the only time she would see Doctor Lecter and trust him to help her. She'd spoken with him on the phone when scheduling the time of their session and it was strange, but even just hearing his voice, there seemed to be something slightly _off_ about him.

She hadn't said anything about this to Will, of course, but she knew that if she got the same feeling during their meeting, she could confide in Will about it and he would respond with a level head. He wasn't the type to get irrationally angry or defensive when someone challenged the people or things that he thought he knew. Veronica knew that Will wasn't too sure of anything at the moment, and he might not be too sure of the doctor.

Her eyes had been following the lines of words on the pages of her book, but she hadn't absorbed a single one of the words before her. Instead, she'd been lost in thoughts about Will and his strange and seemingly slightly off psychiatrist. But she was wakened from her reverie when the door opened.

"Hello," he said, extending a hand. "I am Hannibal Lecter. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Veronica stood and shook his hand. "Veronica Franklin," she said. "Thank you for having me."

"Of course," he said, standing aside and allowing her to enter his office first. He stepped in after her, closing the door behind them.

Veronica walked in and took a good look around the large, open room she was standing in before she took a seat across from the doctor, who had already sat down.

"So," Doctor Lecter said once she'd seated herself, "is it safe to assume that you were referred to me by a friend?"

Veronica nodded. "Will Graham," she said.

The doctor nodded once. "I'll have to thank him," he said. "But in the meantime, we're here to talk about _you_."

"Of course," Veronica said. She looked the doctor over carefully. He seemed friendly enough and quite interested in helping her in any way possible, concerned about her wellbeing, even. But there was still that small something about him that seemed strange. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it was definitely there.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts and then said, "The reason Will suggested I see you is that I am in the same line of work as he is, and I suffer from some of the same . . . side effects."

Hannibal nodded. "I assume that you have spoken quite extensively with Will on this subject, then?"

Veronica nodded once. "Yes."

"Then you will know that he frequently suffers from hallucinations, insomnia, and nightmares," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"And you suffer the same things."

Veronica shifted in her seat. "Not exactly; my biggest problems take the shape of frequent nightmares and occasional insomnia. I've never suffered from hallucinations."

"I see," said Doctor Lecter. "Do you take medication for these things?"

Veronica nodded. "I've tried a lot of the meds they have for nightmares and insomnia, but they haven't worked for me. So I generally take something that'll knock me out cold instead."

"And does this technique work? Are you relieved of the nightmares?"

"No. It worked for a while, but recently I've been having nightmares even when I've taken the medication. And it only seems to make it worse, because I have a harder time waking up and escaping the dreams."

The doctor nodded. "Have you tried a more natural approach? Foods or drinks, or certain exercises can be calming and can reduce the possibility of stress, therefore reducing the possibility of nightmares and insomnia."

Veronica nodded. "I drink hot tea every night before bed. It's herbal, so there isn't any caffeine in it to keep me up. That seems to help."

Hannibal nodded. "Have you tried yoga? I have never done it myself, but have heard that certain exercises and positions of meditation can relieve stress and help to soothe."

"I haven't tried that," Veronica said.

Hannibal nodded slowly, just once. "These nightmares," he said after a moment, "is there one recurring dream that torments you, or are the dreams different every night?"

"Generally they're different every night," she answered.

"Generally?" the doctor repeated.

"Occasionally I'll have a nightmare that I've experienced several times before. When it does come back, it's always exactly the same, down to every little detail."

"Would you be comfortable telling me what happens in the nightmare?" Doctor Lecter asked.

Veronica nodded. "It's almost like a movie, like I'm going back and reviewing every case I've ever worked and every crime scene I've ever checked out. I go all of the way back to the first case I ever did, when I first started profiling. And then it plays out from there. It's just images flashing in a sequence through my head, but they're all crime scenes, so they're all bloody and gory and disturbing. I've had the dream enough times to know the exact sequence of the images."

"I see," the doctor said. "I assume that you wake up because of the dream?"

"Yes."

"Have you noticed any kind of pattern in the time that these dreams occur?"

Veronica was unsure. "What do you mean?" she asked.

The doctor frowned, though it seemed to be in concentration and deep thought rather than annoyance. "When you wake up from the nightmares, have you noticed a certain time of night that you often wake? Sometimes when a person has recurring nightmares, each time the dreams occur, they occur a certain amount of time after the person suffering has fallen asleep. Some people have such dreams within an hour of falling asleep, some after around three hours, and some after five and closer to the time when they will naturally wake up."

Veronica nodded, now understanding. "There's not really a specific pattern, that I can remember," she said. "But I'll try and remember to look at the clock every time I wake up from now on to see if there is a pattern that I've never noticed before." There was a short pause, and then she asked, "What if there is a pattern? What will that mean and how will that affect my ability to deal with the nightmares?"

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Different techniques are used depending on the different pattern of dreams."

Veronica glanced at the clock, realizing that her session with the doctor was up. He looked at the clock as well, and then he rose from his seat. She did the same and followed him to the door.

"Thank you for listening to my problems," she said before walking out the door.

"Thank you for giving me such an opportunity," the doctor said. "May I be so bold as to assume that you will be back next week at the same time?"

"You may," she said smiling.

They exchanged nods and then she left and he closed the door behind her. He seemed nice enough, but something about him was still off. And in all of the time that they'd been talking, she didn't feel that he'd helped her all that much. Nevertheless, she would follow his advice and report back to him a week later. Maybe she could warm up to him by then.

But Veronica wasn't the only skeptical one; even as she was leaving Doctor Lecter's office and wondering just what it was that seemed strange about him, he was seated at his desk on the other side of the door, thinking almost the same about her. The only difference was that Veronica hadn't quite put her finger on that certain off thing about the doctor, and he knew _exactly_ what he didn't like about her.

As far as Hannibal Lecter was concerned, Veronica Franklin was a threat. A threat that had, in a rather short amount of time, changed from a minor one into something much larger, something that was now big enough that it bothered him. Will had said that he felt stable when he was around Veronica. He had said that she somehow found a way to ground him and keep him focused while still letting him be himself and giving him complete freedom. And Hannibal's first encounter with her left him with new information; it had been very clear, even just by her presence, that she was the kind of person who could be very close to another person without bearing down on them, somehow both distant and completely accessible all at once.

It was clear by the way that Will had spoken about her that he cared about her, and that he valued her opinion and ideas, perhaps valued them even higher and with more regard than he valued Hannibal's. And Veronica had been uneasy at their meeting. She hid it well, but Hannibal had worked around good liars plenty of times, and he saw right through her smile. If Veronica decided that she didn't like Hannibal, and more importantly if she decided that she didn't think it would be good for Will to keep seeing him, she could overthrow the _entire thing_ with a simple idea. She could easily get Will to quit seeing Hannibal and if she was enough to ground him and keep him stable, he might never again waver or be as vulnerable as he was now.

And what she could destroy was no minor thing. No, Hannibal had spent hours obsessing over the smallest detail, plotting out every possibility and deciding exactly how he could handle every situation. Will had come to him a broken man, and everyone thought that Hannibal was fixing him. But in truth, Hannibal didn't think Will was broken. Changed, perhaps, but not broken. Soon enough he would "break" enough and come to see things exactly as Hannibal saw them. Will was like soft dough in the hands of the doctor; Hannibal could easily mold his ideas to suit his purpose.

But even so, this plan was a delicate one. Hannibal had thought he'd foreseen any and every possible problem or setback, and he'd even prepared in the event that Will became romantically involved with someone. Alana Bloom, for example. She and Will had started to become involved, but Hannibal hadn't even needed to step in because Will wasn't stable at that point, and Alana could see it and new to avoid it. But he hadn't anticipated someone like Veronica. People like her were rare. She was very similar to Will in some ways, particularly because she had the same gifts he did. She could empathize with killers, but she could also empathize with Will, and that, coupled with her kind heart and her accepting personality, was enough to make her a very dangerous person as far as Hannibal Lecter was concerned.

There weren't many people in the world who he thought of as dangerous or threatening to him or a plan of his. But Veronica was one of the few who held that respect. Veronica Franklin was a threat, _and_, he thought with a cunning smile gracing his lips, _all threats need to be removed or destroyed._

**Hey! So, I've been promising a Hannibal/Veronica meeting/scene for quite a while now and here you have it! I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter. And, as always, any additions, corrections, or suggestions you may have are welcome and I'd love to hear them. Thank you to all of my wonderful readers for being such lovely people and sticking with me and with this story for so long. And a big thank you to everyone who has left reviews! They mean so much to me and they make it all so worth it! Thanks again! ~Taelr**


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